Deadly Impulse

by Carolyn Arnold

  Her cell rang, and she passed it to Terry.

  “If it’s the sarge, I’ll hold the phone to your ear,” he said.

  “And since when are you afraid to talk to him?”

  “I’m not afraid to—”

  It rang again.

  “Can you answer that?”

  “Hello, this is Madison’s phone.”

  She found his greeting humorous but, in light of the case, kept her amusement from showing.

  His eyes trailed over to her. “It’s Cynthia.”

  “Put her on speaker.”

  “Maddy, Mark and I are wrapping up at the house. Anything it’s going to give us, we’ve collected.”

  “That was record time.”

  “Well, the only place showing a struggle was the kitchen. Nothing in her home office was disturbed. All the prints have been lifted, the photographs taken.”

  “What about her prescriptions?”

  “I called them in to Richards and none of them would have brought on the heart attack. Canvassing officers stopped by looking for you, by the way. I said I’d pass on the message. Of course, the detailed reports will be available for you back at the station.”

  “All right. Keep me posted.”

  “Keep us posted,” Terry corrected.

  As much as they were a team, her instinct was to go about life solo, responsible only for her actions and, by extension, not allowing others in. Despite her efforts to change, her old habits were still sticking.

  “Anything else?” Madison asked Cynthia.

  “That’s it for now. I’ll let you know once anything useful comes back.”

  “Let me know. Period. I’ll decide if it’s useful.”

  “Yes, Maddy.” Cynthia’s laugh came through before the line went dead.

  Terry handed Madison’s phone back to her and turned to face the window again. Apparently, he wasn’t chatty today, which was surprising after the way he had pried into her fine at Faye’s house earlier. But right now, Faye Duncan required her attention. The sad part was that the leads were drying out and the suspect pool was nil unless she still considered Jody Marsh.

  Marsh had expressed Faye’s hatred over smoking. As Madison had assumed before, Faye had likely been dead when the person—the killer, probably—had a cigarette in the backyard. Had they been sitting there to calm their nerves or to wait for the perfect time to wheel Faye to the hospital perimeter? And with all that sitting around, why not use that time to clean up after the scuffle? Why leave the broken cup on the floor? The perp didn’t seem to be concerned about leaving trace evidence behind.

  Madison slammed her palm against the steering wheel. “Our killer can’t have a record,” she concluded.

  Terry’s eyes went from her hand to her eyes. “And what did the car do to—” His cell phone rang, cutting off his sentence. He answered immediately. “Really? Are you sure… Okay, give me five minutes… Hang in there.” He hung up and reached over for the lights. “How fast can you drive this thing?”

  “What is—”

  “Annabelle’s in labor.”

  -

  Chapter 17

  TERRY DISMISSED THE LAWS OF the road in favor of getting Annabelle to the hospital faster. And to think he gave Madison a hard time about her driving. He was tearing through Stiles like a professional race car driver.

  “Oh!” Annabelle was in the passenger seat, her legs stretched out and feet pressed against the floor. Her right hand gripped the armrest, and her left curled around her belly. “Please…ooh!”

  “I’m moving as fast I can.”

  His wife touched his arm. “Please…slow d—” Her eyes enlarged. She gritted her teeth, and seemed to be bearing down.

  He eased the pressure on the gas, if only a little bit. He needed to get her and the baby safely to the hospital, but a car accident would do the opposite.

  He slowed their speed even more. He reached the next intersection on a yellow light. He hadn’t seen the color change, so that meant the red light was coming. He applied the brakes.

  “What are you do— Ouch!” She held on to her belly with both hands. “This baby is coming.”

  Women were difficult to please, especially pregnant ones. Add labor into the mix and it made for a volatile combination.

  “Move this car or so help me God.” She bit down and winced, her breath wheezing out between clenched teeth. “Terry!”

  He looked left, then right, then checked his mirrors. He repeated the sequence. Traffic was light. There was one car on the left, a few behind them, and a few ahead. The light was still yellow.

  He glanced over at Annabelle. God, she looked like she was in a lot of pain.

  “Here goes.” He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and the car lunged forward so hard he feared the engine might drop.

  The light was a solid red by the time they sailed underneath it.

  A couple in a car facing them were flailing their arms, and based on their wide-open mouths, they were yelling. He could only imagine that they were calling him an idiot—or worse.

  Fifteen minutes to the hospital from this point. He had to make it in five or the little guy might be born in the front seat.

  He pulled under the overhang for the ER in closer to eight minutes. He jumped out and went around to her door, yelling at a male nurse who was puffing away on a cigarette. “Go get a wheelchair! She’s in labor!”

  The man reacted swiftly, squashing out his smoke in an outdoor ashtray and hurrying inside. He returned soon after with the wheelchair, and he and Terry helped Annabelle into it.

  “Congratulations.” The male nurse patted Terry on the back but stopped outside the automatic doors. He seemed ready to pick up where he had left off.

  The nurses behind the desk were the same ones as the day before. Terry signaled for Jackie to come over, but another female nurse intercepted.

  “How far apart are the contractions?” she asked. His mind went blank.

  “They’ve been off and on…” Annabelle replied amid gushes of breath. “Mostly on.”

  “All right. We’ll get you into a room and keep an eye on you. Has your water broken?”

  Annabelle gritted her teeth and shook her head.

  The nurse wheeled Annabelle off as Terry tried to keep up. For the last nine months, his primary concern was his son’s health. He had skipped right over delivery to when he’d be holding his baby in his arms. If Annabelle knew, she’d say it was easy for him to forget about the birthing process. The thought made him smile. Annabelle’s sassiness was just one of the many things he loved about the woman. And now she was going to bring their child into the world—a true miracle and gift that no amount of gratitude could ever come close to compensating for.

  They maneuvered down the crowded hallways, and he nearly bumped straight into a blonde. Her arms went out toward him to counter her balance, but she had shoved to the left just in time. Her coffee-bean eyes slid to meet his as she went past.

  “Congratulations,” she said and then smiled.

  “Thank—”

  The blonde was out of sight, having blended into the crowd.

  Terry turned around, sidestepped to avoid another collision, and was thrilled when the nurse turned into a room. Not long from now he’d be a father.

  -

  Chapter 18

  EVERYTHING SEEMED OUT OF HER control. For one, the case. They had an ID for Faye but were still at a dead end. They had the scene of the crime, but the motivation needed for someone to let the elderly woman die and dispose of her body wasn’t there. She was hardheaded, set in her ways. She had stood up for what she believed in and no doubt would have created disagreements with those around her. Assuming she was opinionated for all her sixty-eight years, why did it only catch up with her now? Had she debated with the wrong person? The perp would’ve had t
o disagree with her to the point that he or she was willing to let her die and then cover up her death.

  Another aspect outside of Madison’s control was timing. The forensic findings needed to be processed, and now Terry’s wife was in labor. Madison was a blend of excited and scared for them. In both cases—business and personal—all she could do was wait.

  It was midafternoon, and she headed back to the station.

  “Hey, Maddy,” Officer Ranson said when Madison came in the main door. Madison’s timing always seemed to have her arriving when Ranson was between calls.

  Madison nodded and rushed through to her desk. She needed to read the officers’ reports from their canvassing efforts, or at least those that had already come back. But before that, she’d dig into Zoe Bell and find out more about her. If she piqued Madison’s curiosity, the next step would be to visit her.

  She took a chance on the coffee from the bull pen, momentarily cursing her lack of forethought to pick up a Starbucks on the way to the station. The coffee now sat on her desk, the top of it a fine film. She sniffed it. It smelled okay. But she set it aside in favor of bringing up the information on Zoe Bell.

  The DMV photo showed a striking female, aged twenty-one. Her hair was blond and her eyes were so gray and bright that they were silver. While most people didn’t photograph well in license photos—Madison had never had one she was proud of—there were exceptions. Zoe Bell was one of them. She was model-beautiful even with a straight face.

  The record noted she was five feet and seven inches, one hundred and ten pounds, didn’t need glasses, and lived on Pine Street. That was only a few blocks over from Faye Duncan’s house. Madison wondered if it was a choice based on their close relationship or if it had just happened that way.

  There were no marks on Zoe’s driving record, and Madison switched over to the criminal database. Nothing there, either. From what Madison could tell, Zoe was squeaky-clean. But no one was that perfect.

  Madison leaned back in her chair, cradling the mug of muddy brew, her eyes fixed on the screen and the image of Zoe Bell. About a minute later, Madison set the cup back on her desk, still not brave enough to take a sip, and she questioned why she had even bothered getting the coffee.

  Next, she searched Zoe’s address in the database. No one else came back a match. That meant Zoe lived alone. So what did Zoe do for work?

  Another query revealed Angels Incorporated had employed Zoe Bell for the past two years. The position noted was manager.

  Impressive—at least at face value. But what was Angels Incorporated, and what exactly did they do? The address on file for the company was in a residential neighborhood. Maybe they were a dot-com. She was certainly in the right age to prove herself useful and current.

  Madison brought up a search engine and typed in Angels Incorporated. No results. It wasn’t an Internet-based business if they didn’t even have a website—a rarity in today’s world.

  She scribbled down the company’s and Zoe’s addresses on a piece of paper and tucked it into her pocket. She’d try Zoe at home first.

  -

  Chapter 19

  THE CERULEAN SKY WAS MUTED by tufts of thick cloud cover that threatened rain. The warm air and subtle breeze were replaced by stillness and humidity as Madison drove to Zoe Bell’s house, debating whether to follow up with Terry or not. But if there had been news, surely he would have called. She decided it best to leave it for now and stop by the hospital after her shift. Hopefully by then she’d have a little boy to welcome into the world. Add to that a healthy little boy.

  She pulled into Zoe’s driveway. The house was in an older neighborhood, crafted before the modern day cookie-cutter builds. Zoe’s was a two-story red brick dotted with many front windows. A welcome mat at the front door read, IF YOU FORGOT THE WINE, GO HOME. Madison smiled but then reminded herself Zoe was a potential suspect.

  The doorbell was a standard chime and loud enough for Zoe to have heard if she was home, but Madison strained to listen and could hear no movement inside the house. She stepped back and looked up at the structure. All the curtains were opened. What had started out as an ordinary day for Zoe had taken such a turn. Madison figured she must be at Della’s mourning Faye’s death.

  Madison hated what she had to do, but she was without choice. She would head over to Della’s and talk to the two women together. She’d probably speak to Kimberly, Della’s daughter, as well. While she hated to interfere with their grieving, this was a murder investigation and timing was crucial.

  A few minutes later, she was knocking on Della’s door. There weren’t any cars in the driveway, and Della answered. A tissue was bunched up in one hand, and her eyes were bloodshot, her face puffy.

  “What are you doing here, Detective?”

  “Grandma, you should have let me get the door.” Zoe walked into the foyer and passed a steaming mug to Della. It smelled like olive oil.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Della blew on the hot liquid but never took a sip.

  Zoe wrapped an arm around her grandmother, eyeing Madison with suspicion.

  Madison held up her badge. “Detective Knight.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Zoe passed a look to Della. “Why are you here? Have you found out who did this to my great-aunt?”

  Madison studied the girl’s face, one she wanted to find guilty but couldn’t. Zoe’s gray eyes were even more stunning in person, like peering into liquid metal. Her features were placid, softened by grief, and the way her frame sagged from sorrow was innocent and genuine. Her eyes testified to the shock she was feeling, and Madison could only imagine how the girl would be once the full news sank in.

  Zoe was waiting for a response to her question.

  “Unfortunately, we haven’t yet,” Madison said.

  There was confusion in both Zoe’s and Della’s expressions. Madison would need to provide something by way of explanation for her visit, and it couldn’t be the truth. After coming face-to-face with Zoe, what had driven Madison to meet her no longer seemed relevant.

  Madison tilted her chin up and addressed Della. “I just came by to see if you needed anything.”

  “No, I’m fine. Well, I will be, I guess.” Della’s voice trembled.

  “Was your daughter able to make it over?” Madison asked, remembering both that Kimberly had been coming over earlier and that there was no car in the drive.

  “My mother had to go to the hospital. She volunteers there. She’s always given standing by one’s word the utmost importance,” Zoe said. Based on the edge to her tone, Zoe didn’t seem to understand her mother’s position given the situation.

  “Your grandmother said you and your great-aunt were close. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Zoe bit her bottom lip as tears welled in her eyes. One fell, and she swiped at it.

  “Zoe, do you know anyone—”

  “Anyone who would have done this to her?” She shook her head. No longer meeting Madison’s eyes, she added, “I haven’t a clue why anyone would.”

  “What about the in-home nurse, Jody Marsh? What did you think of her?”

  “I met her once. She was pleasant, especially given the way my great-aunt treated her as such an inconvenience.”

  Della reached for her granddaughter’s hand. “You know what she was like, Zoe. Very independent.”

  “Yeah.” Back to Madison. “I can’t imagine someone doing this to her, of all people. Yes, she spoke her mind, but she called it how it was. Those qualities made her that much more special.”

  A lawn mower rumbled to life in a neighbor’s yard. They’d better hurry if they didn’t want to get poured on partway through cutting the grass.

  “Do you mind if I step inside for a minute?” Madison asked.

  Both women backed up in invitation, and Madison walked across the threshold. Della shut the door behind her.

 
; They sat in the living area where she and Terry had been earlier in the day. Grief clung to the air like thick gauze.

  “What was your relationship with your great-aunt?” Madison gently prodded.

  “She was a friend, really. She was a lot smarter than other people my age.” There was the hint of a smile on her lips as she seemed to get caught up in memories. “I could talk to her about anything.” Zoe’s face was pale, and she rubbed her stomach.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “What didn’t we talk about would be a better question. She was such an open-minded woman.”

  “Some thought she was set in her ways. You even said she spoke her mind,” Madison said.

  Zoe giggled. It cut like broken glass in the grief-filled room. “Yes, she did. And yes, she was. But trust me, she had modern views, too. Like she accepted people’s sexual preferences, whatever they were.”

  Faye Duncan had indeed been a woman of contradiction. She had made her stand against abortion known. She even took it further than most by protesting outside the hospital. She wasn’t satisfied to hang back and express her opinion in private.

  “You work at Angels Incorporated?”

  “That’s right. But what does this have to do with anything?”

  Zoe’s blank stare made Madison question why it mattered, but Madison trudged forward. “You’re a manager there?”

  “Are you suspecting my granddaughter of something?” Della asked.

  There was nothing more to say at this point. Until she knew more about Angels Incorporated there was no reason to question its legitimacy. But why had Zoe responded the way she had?

  She glanced at a clock on the wall. It was just after four. She’d leave here, scribble down some notes, and get over to the hospital to check on Terry and Annabelle.

  -

  Chapter 20

  MADISON PICKED UP HERSHEY FROM the kennel and dropped him off at home before catching up with Cynthia in the lab.